


A Teacher's Lesson

by LeDiz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Unfinished, learning, teacher-student relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeDiz/pseuds/LeDiz
Summary: The two hardest years in a teacher's career are their first, and the first time they have to teach someone they have a personal connection with. Unfortunately Remus combined the two. Luckily, Professor McGonagall is still there to teach him.





	

It was late in the staff room, Remus delaying his eventual return to his office longer than he really should. It wasn’t a school night, so it didn’t really matter, but his presence was probably making it harder on the House Elves. They were still cleaning, but it was probably more difficult, given his position in front of the fire.

“Up late, Remus?”

He looked up from his book with a sharp breath that had more to do with being tired than surprise. Minerva McGonagall smiled as she moved around the armchairs toward him, her own book balanced behind clasped hands in front of her.

“Some background reading,” he said, lifting the book. It was taking him too long to read Gilderoy Lockhart’s nonsense, but after a difficult first month he’d decided it was best to at least try. “My second and third years have some… interesting ideas about Defence. I thought I should at least try to understand their perspective.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, sitting down opposite him. “Gilderoy Lockhart was many things, but a teacher was certainly not one of them..”

He nodded, eyeing the back cover. “I suppose he did appear to have the experience.”

“And an interest in the job. Believe you me, Remus, your position is not one that has many lining up for the role.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said with a smirk. “Severus seems interested.”

“Oh, there’s an idea,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Have Harry Potter taught Defence Against the Dark Arts by a man that loathes his very image. Dumbledore may be able to overlook Potter’s potions skills, but even he wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen in Defence.”

Remus blinked. Not only was it the first time anyone had even implied disapproval of Dumbledore in front of him, but it was also the first time he’d heard anyone acknowledge Snape’s obvious dislike of the third year Gryffindors. _And_ she’d made direct reference to a fact everyone seemed fully intent on not mentioning: Harry Potter was destined to fight things well beyond most wizards’ expectations. Remus found himself staring into the fire rather than answer her, not sure how to respond even if he could.

Minerva seemed to understand how badly she’d shocked him, because she said nothing for a few minutes. When she did, it was on a new topic. “How are you finding the role? It’s your first official teaching post, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he said, offering a slight smile. “I find it agrees with me.”

She smiled warmly. It was odd, he’d found, how readily she did it now he was an equal. He remembered her being so stern when he was at school. “You’ve certainly made an impression on the students. My fifth years are always very inspired after your classes.”

 “That’s good to hear. I confess I wasn’t sure how well I would do,” he admitted slowly. “I’ve never had much luck with… well, any work, really. Going back to study was… a last resort.”

Minerva nodded. It was an old story, though most people who did that were much worse in the position than Remus.

“But it’s… it’s almost inspiring. Helping these children learn, watching them grow,” He shook his head, amazed at the memories he was forming. “I could do this for a very long time, I think.”

The fact that it could only last until a parent found out what he was went entirely unsaid. He’d have to make new plans eventually. But, if he was lucky…

“You don’t have any trouble with the students?” she asked, and his smile faded as he abruptly noticed her eyes were sharp. “It isn’t difficult to teach any of them?”

Harry. She was talking about Harry. Whose face and hair and voice was so much like his father. Whose eyes pierced through you just the same as Lily’s. But who was quiet and small and defiant in a way neither parent had ever been. The memory brought back Marauder habits, and he blinked wide eyes. “I admit the Ravenclaws are a touch too clever at times.”

Her eyebrow rose, unimpressed, and he sighed.

 “Well, you have to admit I have reason to avoid the question if you won’t ask it directly,” he pointed out, but settled in to respond properly anyway. “No. I find him a very good student. Talented. And truly interested in learning.” He sighed again. “But perhaps I’m impressing memories on him unjustly.”

“No, I’d say that’s a fair assessment. As long as the subject interests him,” she added with a small smirk. “Heaven help whoever gains his second elective. Even bets are on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.”

He tilted his head, not sure whether to be more amused by the statement or the fact the other teachers had discussed Harry enough to bet on his elective choices. “James and Lily were quite good at both.”

“Potter is not his parents, Remus,” she said evenly, and he stopped, taking the rebuke for what it was.

“I didn’t mean to imply I thought he was,” he said. “Though he does have their talent.”

“That he does. But with more doubt than the pair of them combined,” she said, and let out a breath that was half annoyed and half resigned. “I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies. Power is so often affected by confidence. Flitwick’s mentioned more than once that Potter can cast a powerful charm when he isn’t concentrating. And the boy can duel with students three years his senior.”

Remus nodded quietly, thinking of the few jinxes and curses he’d seen Harry cast. It often took him several tries to do more than wave his wand a little pathetically, but when he did… Then the words filtered through and he frowned. “He duels?”

“In spare moments. All the students do, after Lockhart tried teaching them last year,” she said, rolling her eyes. “None of _us_ know about it, of course. Much as we didn’t in your day.”

He had to laugh at that. “Much as they probably didn’t in yours.”

“Oh, teachers were completely unobservant when _I_ was a student,” she assured him, and he laughed again.

Minerva had always been so stern. Even when the Order of the Phoenix was in full swing, and they got to know her as a person, not just a teacher, she’d never really been human to the Marauders. Not like Dumbledore, or even Flitwick. Never joked. Never even seemed to worry. She was just strong and determined, always.

It was curious to get to know her now, as a mentor. He wondered if it was time or just his standing in her eyes that had changed things.

He lowered his gaze back to the fire, remembering those dark days. And how they ended. Such horrible times… only leading onto the worst point of Remus’s life. Three friends dead, the other a traitor. Little Harry… just gone.

He closed his eyes, remembering the laughing baby he’d been introduced to. He’d been so scared to hold him, irrationally terrified he might somehow cut him, infect him. Lily had smiled and coached him into it, refusing to take no for an answer while still saying ‘okay, Remus, if that’s how you feel. I’m not going to force you. Just, here, look at this’ until he found himself with an armful of perfect, wonderful baby.

Harry hadn’t cried. Remus had.

He slowly reopened his eyes, but couldn’t see the fire. Instead, he saw Harry as he’d been at dinner that night. And then, further back, how he’d been in class a few days ago, his eyes intent as Remus had explained a complicated section of their textbooks. The time he’d seen Harry in the hallway, watching Ron seriously as the other boy talked. Laughing at something Hermione said. Rubbing his neck while talking to a burly seventh year.

He didn’t know Harry.

He probably never would. Not really. They were student and teacher now. There were boundaries and rules.

But he should have.

He should have been able to watch Harry grow up. Should have been there to help Lily teach him to read. Watched as he learned how to ride a broomstick. Supported James through thirteen horrible birthday parties. Joined the family to celebrate his Hogwarts letter.

He should have known Harry’s favourite food. What sort of music he listened to. Whether he liked to read. What he did when the long Summer days stretched out.

But he didn’t.

“There are two difficult years in a teacher’s life, Remus,” Minerva said quietly, jerking him back to the present. “The first year they teach, and the first time they have a student they know personally. You couldn’t have avoided it, but combining the two will not be easy.”

He smiled slightly. “When have I made anything easy? But recommendations and advice are appreciated.”

“That’s a good start,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Take advice when given. And ask for it when needed. And be careful with Potter.”

“I’ll keep it professional –” He began, but stopped when she shook her head. “I _shouldn’t_ keep it professional?”

“Of course you should. But that isn’t what I meant,” she said, and then stood up. “It is a lesson I learned with you, Remus: some students need a more aware hand than others. _Be careful_ with Harry Potter.”

And with that, she nodded, and left him alone.

 

* * *

 

He first got an inkling of what she might mean when he saw Harry on the Hogsmeade weekend, looking slightly frustrated but mostly lost, and the way he just stared blankly when Remus invited him in for tea.

Later, he thought he shouldn’t have done it. Teachers shouldn’t spend personal time with students, he knew that.

But part of him… part of him had needed it. Had needed to speak to Harry without the distance of lessons and text books. Had needed to get past his memories of James and the rumours that abounded, past all the history and the news reports and meet the boy he should have known since birth.

In a lot of ways, Harry surprised him. Because he wasn’t James. He wasn’t brash, or arrogant, always with a smile on his face and a plan or twelve in mind. But he wasn’t like Lily either, proud of her skills, always caring and sweet but full of fire that had drawn people to her like moths. And he wasn’t really the way he seemed in class, either. He had an easy… grace to him, in class. That was the word. Grace. Like even if he didn’t know how to do something, or understand the subject matter, he understood the way class worked, and how he could navigate it.

In person, one on one, Harry was less sure. He watched everything, particularly Remus’s hands and face, looking for signals and hints. He didn’t say anything strange or impolite, but he didn’t always seem completely connected to his mouth. It often said things that made him stop, go back, and visibly process what he’d just heard before resigning himself to it.

He was very good at that, Remus realised later, when he started using what he’d learned to re-evaluate certain interactions he’d witnessed before. Resignation. Rolling with the punches.

How appropriate. It was only fitting for the Boy Who Lived to be a survivor.

But it still made him wonder. He knew Harry hadn’t exactly had a safe time of it, at Hogwarts, but… but this felt deeper than that. Ingrained.

“Well, considering his first year of life,” he muttered to himself, and went back to his lesson plans. He should have planned around the moon better.

 

* * *

 

Minerva looked up from under her eyebrows at his knock, then raised both them and her head when she recognised him. “Remus. Come in. How are you recovering?”

“Well,” he said as he moved into the room. It was still odd to have colleagues who not only knew about his curse but treated it as they would any other illness, but he was learning it. “Severus deserves his title as Potions Master – I haven’t felt so much better so quickly in years.”

“Excellent. I’m afraid I have no tea or biscuits to offer you. I ran out while speaking with Oliver Wood earlier,” she said as he lowered himself to sit in one of the chairs opposite her desk. “I fear he intends to fail his NEWTs if we don’t win the cup this year. I can’t say I blame him… the _rash_ of bad luck we’ve had…” She shook her head, obviously frustrated, and Remus had to hide his smile. It must have shown in his eyes, however, because she gave him a severe look he now associated more with her students than himself. “Did you have something you wished to speak to me about?”

“Yes,” he said, smile fading quickly. “I was hoping I might take you up on that offer of teaching advice.”

“Of course,” she said, and only paused a moment before prompting, “Is it Potter?”

For a moment, he debated asking how she’d guessed, but almost immediately realised it was just obvious. Not, perhaps, for the reasons she thought, but as she’d pointed out, if he was going to have trouble with any student, it was mostly likely to be Lily and James’ son.

“He’s asked me to teach him the Patronus charm.”

Amazingly, Minerva didn’t scoff, or show any incredulity that a third year wanted to learn a spell that most fully grown wizards couldn’t master. And the brief flash of relief he saw in her eyes lasted only an instant before her lips pursed.

“Only Potter?” she asked. “Were Granger and Weasley nearby? Perhaps out of sight?”

He blinked. “No, they were at Hogsmeade.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Did he tell you why he wanted to learn the charm?”

“He feels helpless against the dementors and blames himself for some perceived weakness,” he explained. “I think learning the charm will help him feel…” He trailed off, not really sure how to explain it. He didn’t think it was a matter of safety – Harry didn’t seem to feel unsafe on the grounds, though he had every right to with the dementors hovering around the gates. It could be suspicious, and he suspected that was what Minerva was thinking – that Harry intended to fight the dementors in order to sneak out of the castle. But knowing Harry’s fear of them, he doubted the boy would voluntarily seek out a confrontation with them just for fun.

James would have. But Harry... was more his mother's son, in that way.

But he had no other explanation for it. It wasn’t to feel protected, nor was it to invite trouble. And yet he’d agreed to try to teach Harry because he felt like Harry needed the charm to feel…

“Harry Potter,” Minerva said suddenly, disrupting Remus’s thoughts with a quiet but firm tone, “is a Gryffindor to the core. He does not tolerate helplessness.”

“Not in himself,” Remus agreed.

They gazed at each other silently, as if that was explanation enough and they now had to find a new tangent for the conversation. Minerva waited a few moments before prompting, “You wanted teaching advice.”

So he did. He shook himself and got back on track. “I agreed to tutor Harry, but now I wonder if that’s… wise. As much as I am trying to, I struggle to see him as I do other students. I don’t want to…” He stalled again, unable to verbalise it. The best words to describe his concerns had something to do with ‘professionalism’ and ‘family’.

Luckily, if the slight softening of Minerva’s gaze was any indication, she understood.

“Teaching is perhaps one of the most human professions, Remus,” she said, tone lecturing despite her expression. “Unlike healers or aurors, we do not put our emotions aside to do our work. We connect with our students in order to help them learn. You cannot avoid forming relationships with them. Those relationships may not always be positive, but also are they not always distant. A good teacher feels for his or her students. You cannot avoid it.”

“But Harry –”

“You are human, Remus,” she reminded him. “You are entitled to some emotions regarding the child of your dearest friends.”

He flinched. He wasn’t sure why, because it was obviously the core of the issue they were discussing, and yet he felt unprepared for her to say it so bluntly. Her expression shifted very slightly at his reaction, but she continued anyway.

“Do not let that emotion get in the way of your ability to teach.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “So you don’t think this is a bad idea?”

“I am not sure of Potter’s ability to create a Patronus charm,” she said slowly, “but I do not think that is any reason for either of you not to try.”

And, with that, she went back to her marking, leaving Remus to contemplate the issue himself.

 

* * *

 

“Really, Harry, you’re doing marvellously,” Remus tried to say, as Harry stumbled against a desk only to immediately turn and thump his fist into it. “Far better than I expected, if I’m being honest –”

“It’s not enough!” he snapped, slamming his palm down this time. “I’m not getting anywhere!”

“Harry –” He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. As much as he normally tried not to, he thought back to James and Lily, trying to remember how they acted when angry, and what could calm them down. Lily burned with cold fury, becoming imperious but petty, with words that could cut to the bone. James had been more explosive and expressive. He’d yell and threaten until he burned himself out.

But as he was learning very quickly, Harry was not his parents. He would probably calm down only when he achieved the impossible.

“Perhaps… perhaps we’re approaching this the wrong way,” he said, and hitched himself up onto a desk. “Take a seat, Harry.”

“No, I can _do_ this, I just –” He clenched his jaw, then turned on his heel and marched over to yank out a chair and sit down. It looked like it was taking everything in his power not to glare, but he was clearly refusing to give up another chance to get things right.

It was something Remus was very much coming to respect about Harry. Something neither of his parents had been very good at – the willingness to accept that whether he was right or wrong, someone else might have another, better, solution. He was stubborn, there was no way around that, but he always gave people their chance.

“You grew up with muggles, didn’t you?” he asked slowly, and bit back a smile at Harry’s bewildered response. “Your aunt and uncle, I believe?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Did they tell you about magic? That you were a wizard?”

There was a muscle working in Harry’s jaw. Probably because he couldn’t see the point to the line of questioning. “No. I didn’t know anything until Hagrid told me.”

Something about his answer tickled the back of Remus’s mind, telling him to pay attention, but he shooed it off in favour of his lesson. “Do you remember what you wanted to be, when you grew up?”

“What?”

He let the smile out this time, gesturing vaguely. “Every child has a dream job they want. Auror, Healer, rock star… I imagine muggle children are the same. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

Harry stared at him blankly for so long that Remus actually began to wonder if he’d get an answer. But, eventually, Harry glanced off to the side and said, “I just… I just wanted to be a grown up. Leave the Dursleys behind.”

That same part of his mind demanded he listen to that, but again, Remus ignored it.

“Did you have any hobbies? Any clubs?”

“No,” he said, the frustration starting to build again.

“Come now, Harry, you must have done something. Think back. How did you spend those long weekends before wizards’ chess and exploding snap?” he said cheerfully, but Harry just tutted under his breath.

“Gardening,” he muttered, and Remus chuckled. He wouldn’t have picked Harry for a herbologist.

“No wonder you and Neville get along so well.”

A slight twitch in Harry’s cheek told him to move it along before Harry could ask where he was going with it. “I want you to think back to those times, Harry. Think back to the garden. Those long hours in the dirt, with those plants,” he said quietly. “Think about the work you did there. How it made you feel.”

“Tired, sweaty, and angry?” he asked impatiently.

“N- angry?” he repeated, lifting an eyebrow. “Not proud of your plants? Didn’t they grow?”

“Oh, they grew. But they weren’t my plants,” he said shortly. “And no, proud isn’t the word.”

“Alright… was there something else, then? You’re quite the athlete – any muggle—”

“No,” Harry said, even more harshly. “I never played sports before Quidditch. I didn’t have any hobbies. I didn’t play video games. I didn’t play soldiers with kids in the street. No offence, Professor, but I’m using the best memory I have to fight the dementors already; you won’t find one in Privet Drive.” He froze for a second, apparently just hearing himself. Then he abruptly stood up. “If it’s alright, I think I should get back to the common room. I have a lot of homework.”

And then he practically fled the classroom, leaving Remus to the silent echoes of Harry’s words.

 

* * *

 

Remus fought the urge to run both hands through his hair as he tried desperately to explain what he’d seen in Harry the other night.

It hadn’t been Lily. It definitely wasn’t James. It was something entirely Harry, and it was gnawing at him like… “It was just _wrong_.”

Minerva gave him one of those long looks he was beginning to associate with the topic of Harry Potter. They were standing near the top of the stairs leading down to the Great Hall, watching the children wander about below. It was a weekend, but not a particularly pleasant one due to the weather, so the whole school seemed to be wandering about, restless and bored. With such a mood permeating the student body, anyone out of the common rooms needed supervision, but obviously chose to ignore it, which was how they could talk so openly with nothing but a minor charm to stay unnoticed.

Minerva’s eyes flicked away for a moment, and Remus followed her gaze to see none other than Harry himself, trailing the other Gryffindor boys down the stairs and doing a poor job of appearing interested in the conversation. Remus looked back at Minerva, who inclined her head.

“I would like to perform an experiment. For the sake of all things, no matter what happens, you are to not interfere, or look disapproving,” she said, and was about to move forward before she abruptly stopped and raised her wand. “I will need a prop. Do you happen to have a book in reach?”

He blinked, but it just so happened that he had one of Lockhart’s insipid biographies in a pocket, and handed it over. She grimaced at the cover and performed a quick glamour to change it to something less ostentatious.

“As a suggestion, I advise you watch Potter’s eyes,” she said, and then stepped forward with a sharp edge to her tone. “Potter! A word!”

It was curious, but not surprising, that although all the boys stopped and looked around, Ron shifted his weight onto his back foot and turned his shoulders in a way that put Harry behind him. If Harry noticed, he defied it, stepping around him to look between the two teachers. “Yes, Professor?”

“A private word, if you don’t mind,” she said, jerking the book in a gesture toward the nearest classroom upstairs.

Harry exchanged an exasperated glance with Ron, but simply muttered, “I’ll catch up to you later,” and turned to follow Minerva up. Remus trailed after them, amused by the way Ron watched them go.

He remembered James being like that. Always protecting him and Peter. The quiet thought that it hadn’t just been James – that there was another protector in their little group – made him sigh inwardly and force his attention back to the present. Watch his eyes, she’d said.

Harry was already doing enough watching for the pair of them by the time they got in the room. His eyes flicked between his teachers warily, but he didn’t say anything, just waiting quietly until the door was shut and Minerva turned to look at him again.

“Professor Lupin was telling me about your extra lessons, Potter,” she said, raising an eyebrow. Remus had to bite back a smile at how unimpressed she looked. “Surely Miss Granger doesn’t have you preparing for OWLs already?”

Harry blinked. He glanced at Remus, but looked away again so quickly that there was no way to judge his expression. “No. I don’t like that the dementors affect me the way they do. I need to be able to fight them,” he said.

Minerva’s eyebrow only rose further. “And why would you need to do that?”

He blinked again. “Professor?”

“The dementors are banned from school grounds, Potter. And you are banned from leaving them. I hope you are not aiming for a career in Azkaban,” she added, in a would-be offhand tone. “What reason could you possibly have for meeting a dementor?”

Harry just stared at her, and Remus couldn’t help glancing over himself. He wasn’t seeing anything particularly revealing. He couldn’t even understand the point of the discussion. But there obviously was one, so he went back to Harry. Just in time, too, because Minerva took a breath, and that’s when it happened.

Harry’s eyes, which had been so focussed, dropped suddenly.

It was a small thing. They rose almost immediately, but it had been there. Remus tilted his head the better to analyse.

“Potter, you aren’t thinking of leaving the school grounds,” she said sharply. Harry’s shoulders rolled, and his chin lifted very slightly, but he said nothing, so Minerva continued. “We discussed this. Your guardians did not sign your permission slip; you are not allowed to visit Hogsmeade.”

“That’s not why I want to learn. If they show up at another Quidditch match –”

“Unlikely, Potter,” she snapped. Again, Harry’s eyes flickered, so quickly it should have been unseen. By all appearances, Minerva didn’t notice. “Professor Dumbledore has made it very clear to the dementors that they are not to return, or he shall have them removed. I believe you _trust_ Professor Dumbledore?”

“Of course I do,” he said, so immediately and automatically that it almost made Remus frown. But Harry rallied past it, lifting his chin even higher as his tone gained a steel edge well beyond his years. “I also believe Professor Dumbledore would encourage me to learn how to defend myself.”

“Perhaps, but not from those which are trying to protect you.”

Remus had often heard descriptions of people’s eyes sharpening, but he’d never been inclined to use it himself. Until now. The slight twitch of Harry’s eyebrows, the way his eyes didn’t quite narrow, but the skin under glasses moved, and the aura of danger suddenly seeping out of him… sharpening seemed the only word for it.

“The dementors aren’t here to protect me, Professor. They’re here for Sirius Black,” he said coldly.

Minerva responded to the tone by shifting both her grip on the book and her weight. Harry watched both movements settle before going back to her face.

“Who is here for you,” she said shortly. “Yet another topic we have discussed. You are not to take risks.”

“I’m not _taking_ risks, I’m _learning_ how to _defend_ myself,” he snapped, and she pointed the book at him, earning something that wasn’t quite a flinch.

“You will watch your tone, Potter.”

His eyes had to flick back up to her. He didn’t look anything close to remorseful. “Sorry, Professor.”

“You are to stay on castle grounds. You are not to attempt to engage the dementors. And if I hear about Miss Granger or Mr Weasley getting into any altercations with dementors on or near the gates, Potter, do not think I will not know who gave them the knowledge to ‘defend’ themselves,” she said, slamming the book against her open palm.

Remus found himself staring, just a little. Although his attention mostly remained on her face, Harry tracked every slight movement Minerva made with the book. And with every word, that diamond-cut, defiant anger he’d seen glimpses of rose just a little more. He seemed to have completely forgotten Remus was there.

“Now let me be very clear,” Minerva said, shaking the book at him again. “As admirable as it may be for you to want to learn new skills, and I will not interfere with whatever Professor Lupin chooses to teach you, you should not for a moment think I will allow you to test any such abilities on a live dementor. I’m sure you can understand how foolish it would be for you to risk your life in such a manner.”

Harry shifted, swaying very slightly in place. “Yes, Professor.”

“Good. I hope we understand one another.”

“Yes, Professor.”

She eyed him for a few more moments, then jerked her chin toward the door. “Dismissed.”

“Thank you,” he said, biting off the syllables. “Professor.”

He turned on his heel, blinked at the sight of Remus as if he actually had forgotten he was there, and then awkwardly stepped around him to march out of the room. Remus waited until he would definitely be out of earshot before turning back to Minerva.

“I’m afraid I may have missed something. Why did you need the book?”

“Because that is how I knew something was _wrong_ , Remus,” she said, her tone far more gentle and concerned than the last five minutes would have implied her capable of. “Defiance, anger… not unusual traits for Gryffindors. James was thin as a child, if I recall correctly. Perhaps not as thin, but thin nonetheless. Lily worked too hard to prove herself, and most children raised in muggle homes are awkward during meals, their first year. Nothing to be concerned about. But a boy that never stops watching your hands? _That_ is _wrong_.”

 

* * *

 

As the class began to file out, Remus opened his mouth, but then stopped, because he had no idea what or how he was planning to ask.

‘Tell me, Harry, have you ever had a book literally thrown at you?’

‘Just curious, Harry, but putting aside the whole Voldemort thing, has anyone ever tried to hurt you?’

‘Call us crazy, Harry, but the faculty and I have this horrible sneaking suspicion that you’ve been, oh, what’s the word, abused? Yes, that’s it. Care to shed some light on the subject?’

And besides, he realised with a jolt, Harry was already out the door with most of the class. Only Hermione was still at her desk, struggling to fit all her books back into her bag. The girl really was trying to do too much, no matter what she was capable of. Remus sighed and stepped down from his lectern. “Hermione – a word?”

She flinched, staring at him with wide eyes for a second, before jerking her head in a nod. “O-of course, Professor,” she said, and then looked down at her bag, obviously not sure whether she should abandon the books to speak to him. He saved her the trouble by walking over to her desk.

“How are you finding the Time Turner?” he asked quietly. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you seem… tired.”

“Oh, no, Professor,” she said with a shrill laugh. “Not tired, no. Just… preoccupied. Things have been… well, I don’t know if you noticed, but Harry and Ron are…”

“Being boys?” he suggested, and she laughed again. It sounded a little more like a sob.

“Harry, I understand. He’s always been like this, but Ron…! I mean, that broom could be –” She cut herself off, hunching her shoulders for a moment. “Ron should know better.”

He found himself asking the question before he could even process what she’d said. “What do you mean?”

“No one just gives gifts like that!” she snapped, before apparently remembering who she was talking to and ducking her head. “Sorry. It’s just… it’s _Harry_.”

He hesitated, not entirely sure what to make of that, and asked, “Is there no one you can think of that would give Harry such a present? Professor McGonagall gave him the Nimbus, I’ve heard. And he has many admirers.”

That, of all things, stopped her. She paused, frowning for a moment, then shook her head. “I think Professor McGonagall did it because she knew Harry couldn’t buy one himself. I think she expects he’d have learned better by now.”

Remus furrowed his brow, but she didn’t seem aware of him, running her thumb over a book. “And no one else thinks of Harry like that. Like he deserves gifts or –” She swallowed, then looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. “Ron _knows_ that. Ron _knows_ no one would give Harry anything like that, _knows_ it has to be a trick, and yet he’s –” She slapped a hand over her mouth, gave a very tiny squeak, and then gasped, “I’m sorry, Professor, it’s just – I’ve – I’m sorry.”

He kept his hands by his sides through great strength of will. Teachers did not hug crying students. They didn’t.

But this wasn’t something chocolate was going to fix.

“Which class are you supposed to be in now, Hermione?”

She hiccupped, but the simple question seemed to bring her back from tears a little. “Ancient Runes and – and Care of M-Magical Creatures.”

“I’m sure Hagrid will understand if you’d like to take tea with me instead,” he offered gently. “Take some time to think?”

She nodded, and they both gathered up their things before taking the short walk to Remus’s office. He waited until she was settled in the better armchair, then set the kettle to boiling and bustled around making tea. She had mostly recovered herself by the time he pressed a steaming mug in her hands.

“Harry’s a very good friend of yours, isn’t he?” he prompted, then offered a knowing smile. “Usually.”

“The best I’ve ever had,” she said, and sniffed. “I mean… he likes Ron better, but… you know boys.”

“I’ve had occasion to meet some,” he admitted, smiled at her blush, and then sipped his tea before continuing. “Boys can take brooms very seriously, but Harry will get over it in time, I’m sure.”

“Of course he will. He’s just being…” She rolled her still teary eyes. “He knows I’m right, you know. It’s just… he just doesn’t _think_ , sometimes.”

He had to smile. Potters often didn’t. But he suspected Grangers might suffer a related, if not necessarily similar, affliction. “Perhaps he mightn’t have been so cross if you’d told him your suspicions before going to Professor McGonagall?”

“He still wouldn’t have handed it over,” she said stubbornly. “He would have said something stupid, like ‘I’ll be careful’, or that me and Ron would just have to watch over him and… Like we could do anything useful!” she ended on a near-shriek, and Remus inwardly winced, but kept his smile up.

“I don’t know about that. From what I hear, the two of you have proven yourselves quite capable,” he said, but that only earned another scoff.

“Not when it matters. Not really.”

She drank her tea, and Remus watched her, waiting for something to come to him. He didn’t… didn’t even have experience in these things. In being the protect _or_ , rather than protect _ed_. Sirius had his moments that hinted at a hard home life, but it had been James to scoop him up and carry him forward. And James had never had any trouble, because he was _James_. Perfect, unshakeable James.

And Sirius had never really needed protecting, had he? Even that was probably a lie, to seal that wonderful, golden friendship.

“Sirius Black is trying to kill him,” she whispered, drawing his attention back to her. Something heavy settled near his adam’s apple, and he hoped she didn’t notice his hand curling into a fist. She barely seemed aware of him at all. “Sometimes… sometimes I think Harry…”

He wasn’t sure when he stopped breathing, not sure how he expected her to finish the sentence. the cup beneath his fingers felt too fragile, and he set it aside to grip his hands instead.

“Harry’s not a killer,” she said, and it didn’t sound like she was trying to convince herself. It sounded resigned. “He’s not going to kill Black. But he wants to. And – and I think – I think that’s going to – he’s going to get hurt again. I’m not sure he’s going to come back from this.”

And there it was.

Remus felt himself slipping, falling back thirteen years, to when they’d first begun to suspect a traitor in their midst. How he’d looked at his friends, and known the only one it couldn’t be was James, who loved Lily and Harry more than life itself. Remus had spent so long staring at Sirius, remembering how he’d used him to try and kill Severus. How Sirius had laughed it off, and promised he hadn’t meant it. Like it was a _joke_. Remus had never forgiven him, not really, but they’d moved past it, until…

His friend. His wonderful, handsome, brave friend, who had stood by him and worked so hard to make sure he wasn’t alone… was trying to kill James. The one person who would never, ever be able to hit back. And he couldn’t even warn James because… because he _had_ to be wrong. Sirius wouldn’t – he _couldn’t_ betray James. It was impossible. Inconceivable.

And then… then Sirius had done it anyway.

It had ripped through Remus then. So many times, and in so many ways. He’d been so broken that year. So lost.

And here it was all over again.

“We’ll protect him, Hermione,” he said quietly, and she flinched. She really had forgotten who she was talking to. But he met her gaze, furious and defiant and protective as he hadn’t been, all those years ago. “Sirius won’t touch him. Not as long as I’m here.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled too, and nodded. “Thank you,” she breathed, and he nodded back.

He wouldn’t run, this time.

**Author's Note:**

> The 48 are a collection of unfinished and/or pointless fics saved to my hard drive, now posted on Ao3 for people's interest, or in case anyone wants to adopt them.
> 
> Book 3 is my favourite of the Harry Potter books. It was the first I read, and to this day I still prefer it over the others. Now I'm all growed up and stuffs I find Lupin and McGonagall are absolutely my favourite characters of the whole series, so that probably has a fair bit to do with it... And no, despite this only being written fairly recently, I don't really know if there was supposed to be more to it. Probably not, but who really knows?


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